Someone once said to me, “There are veterinarians who help some animal rescues. You are not one of those vets. You are an animal rescuer who just happens to be a veterinarian.“
I believe every animal has a story. I am fortunate enough to be able to share some of them.

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Thursday, September 30, 2010

Saturday morning was a cold and very damp morning. It was raining as I helped to coach my daughter's first grade soccer team. Half way through the game, my employee, Miguel, arrives. He also coaches soccer so I was not surprised by his arrival. He was not approaching me about the game.

"Do you know anything about a black dog in the backyard at the clinic?"

My heart sank. "No", I responded, looking at him awaiting more information. This is not the first time this has happened. It has happened to full sized labs at our clinic. I do not want to know how people got an eighty pound dog over the six foot fence in the middle of the night. I am just glad there were no broken bones as a result of the delivery effort.

Miguel had stopped at the clinic to drop off his dog so she would not get wet watching the game. He had gone out into the backyard with her and discovered a medium sized black dog hiding in the corner of the yard near the shed.

The poor thing was soaking wet. He ran from Miguel as if he had never met a person before. It took Miguel ten minutes to coax the dog close enough to him to grab him, so that they could go inside and warm up. Needless to say, both dog and rescuer were soaking wet by the time they went inside.

After a gentle towel dry, the new dog was placed in a cage with a warm blanket, fresh food, and a bowl of water. I am not sure he wanted the water after being out in the rain for what we can assume was most of a very wet and cool night.

When the soccer game was over, I drove to the clinic. Black dogs are always more difficult to find homes for because they are very common in shelters everywhere and they are difficult to photograph. A black dog's face in a photo does not show the expression that they can show in person if given an opportunity. Knowing that we had another black dog to adopt out made me a little sad.

The dog sat in the cage, huddled in the corner, still very frightened and unwilling to be picked up. Miguel came over with a soft blanket to drape over him to lift him out of the cage. We use blankets on animals that are scared and may bite. It gives them a larger target than a bare hand if they choose to bite. Using the blanket will increase the chance that an attempted bite will miss your hand. A blanket, if used properly, can be much less intimidating to a frightened animal than human hands.

Miguel cradled the blanket wrapped dog. I started petting the head and looked into his eyes. He was scared but did not seem like a biter, even with this level of fear. I slowly lifted his upper lip to reveal his teeth so I could estimate his age. He appeared to be a puppy, approximately five months old. He was scared stiff. Up front was a group of people waiting to meet him. My employees were there, my daughter was there, and HEART Rescue happened to be there for an appointment.

He sat in Miguel's arms wide eyed, and stiff as a board, afraid to move. I asked Miguel to put him down. Miguel looked uncertain about my decision, but he gently placed the pup on the ground.

The puppy sat in an awkward stance, exactly where he was placed. He looked around at the group of people who were trying their best not to be intimidating. He hesitated to move, still unsure of his surroundings. We all slowly crouched down to the pups level and remained quiet trying not to scare him further.

Suddenly, he noticed my six year old daughter and ran straight to her.

He certainly needs a home with children. They seem to be his safe place.

He then slowly worked his way around the new circle of friends...

And his personality began to blossom...

We named him Jack B. Nimble for his uncanny ability to jump a six foot fence "on his own".

Those of us in rescue see abandonment often, and the degree can vary significantly. Animals have been left in boxes on highways, left wandering country roads, left in houses with no access to food or water, tied to the doors of shelters, and left in boarding kennels by owners who have no intention of ever picking them up .

The group of us played with the puppy as he came out of his shell. He appeared to be a collie mixed with german shepherd. Those ears definitely look shepherd, and that long nose seems very collie. While we played, we also discussed the decision that his previous owner's had made. We experienced anger, confusion, and even relief. We agreed with each other, and we disagreed with each other.

We felt anger that a person would dump their dog over the fence in the middle of the night, releasing themselves of the responsibility to care for this puppy. When you decide to get a puppy, it is a commitment made for the lifetime of that dog. A dog makes that commitment to you at the very moment he meets you.

We were angry that they left the dog in a strange place, with no item of comfort, on a cold and wet night. This decision elicited such a significant fear response in this young puppy. All three of the dogs abandoned in this way at our clinic have been angry and scared when we arrive in the morning and walk out to discover them. They are traumatized by the experience, and this puppy's reaction was quite severe. Fortunately, he recovered quickly once given the chance to get to know us, as did the other two.

The anger we felt stemmed not only from the trauma placed on this puppy, and lack of commitment on behalf of the owner, but also from the owner's act of shunting financial responsibility on a rescue group rather than making sure the animal's care was paid for. All rescue groups, including ours, are underfunded and overwhelmed during any economy. This dog was not neutered, and we had no veterinary care history on him. We had to start from scratch on this boy. We had to treat him as though he was a stray dog.

We also discussed our confusion about how a person could make a conscious decision to abandon an animal. Confusion as to what prompted the abandonment. Were they not ready for a dog? Were the people not the actual owners of the puppy? Did the dog have a health or behavioral issue they would not tolerate? Did they suddenly have a lifestyle change that forced them to get rid of the dog such as foreclosure, unemployment, or divorce? Did they not know about any significant lifestyle changes just a few short months or weeks ago when they first brought this cute little puppy into their home? Did they try calling us or any other shelter to see if we would agree to take him into our rescue group before deciding to abandon him? Did the puppy's fur not match the color of their sofa?

We then discussed our relief in the fact that they chose to leave the dog with us, regardless of the irresponsible way in which it was done. Relief that the puppy was not running loose out in the countryside searching for food and shelter. Relief that the dog did not appear abused or neglected prior to this incident. Relief that the puppy is not at risk for being shot, hit by a car, or injured by other animals. Relief that the dog is in safe hands, and a proper home will be found for him.

I have said in the past, when we approach our door in the morning to find a strange box in front of it, often containing a cat or two, "At least they left it with us, rather than leaving it out on the highway." I guess I can wear that as a badge of honor, that they chose to trust their animal in our care.

A few hours later, I checked my email and discovered a custom form submission from an anonymous visitor to my website.

It read, "Dakota is a black lab/australian sheperd mix. He was born05/11/10, so is almost 5 mo. old now. He has had two sets of distemper and is coming due for his next one. He is familiar with a kennel, but needs work on potty training still. Please help this wonderful pup find a loving home. I wish we could have provided it for him, but couldnt and felt the best place for him would be in your care. Hopefully this little bit of information helps you with him. Thank you."

I would like to respond to their note with the following, "You're welcome. While I don't know your circumstances or your reasoning, I would like to request that when you find yourself in a place of relative comfort in your life, remember that we helped your dog and in doing so, we helped you. I hope at that time you will decide to walk into the smallest, neediest animal shelter that is close to you and donate both your time and money to them, as a thank you to me and my staff for the care of your dog."

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A commercial breeder decided to eliminate most of the Pekingese breed from her breeding stock, except for eight pekes she is maintaining to produce peke-a-poo hybrids. She culled the older senior dogs that were no longer producing enough puppies and those that had major health issues. She had previously met a client of mine who does Pekingese rescue. The breeder contacted the rescue group, and the two made an agreement.

The rescue group would take in all twenty five dogs in "do-able doses". The rescue group would pick up five dogs every other month, from January through September. The rescue group would take on all the veterinary care for the dogs as well as the expenses that went with them. They would then find volunteer foster homes for each of the dogs to teach them what it is like to be a beloved family member. They would commit to finding each dog the forever home that was right for them, no matter how long they had to search. The senior rescue dogs often have to wait some time for their family to find them, and they often require the most medical care. The breeder would drive back to her puppy mill after each relinquishment, and continue to breed her remaining breeding stock, as long as they continued to be profitable.

Every other month, my friend's car looked like this. In this car load are two special dogs that made their way to my office.

Meet Gypsie. She is a six year old female Pekingese that found herself on September's rescue transport.

Gypsie had a serious eye problem. The globe of her eye was extremely enlarged, and bulging from the socket. The eye was edematous, infected, and on the verge of rupturing. Gypsie was not able to blink that eye due to it's enlarged size. The cornea was dry, inflamed, and painful. Gypsie was handed from the breeder to the rescuer in this heartbreaking condition.

The eyeball needed immediate removal. While there is no way to say exactly how long this dog's eye has been in this condition, it is fair to say that it was the result of apathy and neglect. The breeder's responsibility should have been to take the dog to a veterinarian at first signs of disease for treatment prior to it getting in such a condition. This dog was given to a rescuer, by a breeder, and as a result she was given a new chance at life.

Gypsie is in a foster home recovering from her surgery. She has been spayed, heartworm tested, microchipped, and had all of her vaccines. She is available for adoption at Midwest Peke N Chin Rescue . She is living in a foster home during her recovery, with a furry foster sibling. She is enjoying every minute of family life; a life with one less eye, and a lot less pain

Meet Frito, an eight year old male Pekingese. Frito was also wondering why he was sitting in a crate on this moving thing they call a "car". He was fortunate enough to have found himself in the hands of rescue as well. Frito looks as though he has either a terribly long tongue, or a huge smile.

The truth is that Frito's mandible, the lower part of his jaw is missing. The front half of the mandible on each side of his mouth has rotted away (called osteolysis). This is due to severe dental disease and infection that has caused the decay and resorption of the teeth as well as the bone that once held them. The mandible is the lower jaw in the below photo. Frito's jaw ends at the point of the area labeled as "molars". The front half of his lower mouth is flaccid without the rigid brace of the mandibular bone. As a result, his tongue flops over the soft tissue. He cannot close his mouth completely. He has difficulty grasping / prehending his food. He had a dental at the time of his neuter. He had one remaining tooth that was diseased enough to require removal. He now has no teeth, known as edentulism, but he has a wonderful life in foster care.

The result of this disease process is that Frito always looks happy, makes a mess when he eats, and gives very sloppy kisses. All of these things will enhance Frito's new family's experience. He is not in pain from this condition. The infection that caused it is gone. He is now completely vetted, having been neutered, vaccinated, microchipped, and heartworm tested. Frito is also available for adoption with Peke N Chin Midwest Rescue.

Stop in at the Peke N Chin Midwest Rescue website and thank them for the wonderful care that they give their adoptable pets. Perhaps you will find a Pekingese or a Japanese Chin to call your very own...

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Friday, September 24, 2010

I went to a continuing education meeting last week. One of our speakers was a federal agent who spoke about the Michael Vick dog fighting investigation.

When the Michael Vick investigation first made the news, I made a conscious decision NOT to read alot about it. I already knew how I felt about dog fighting and it's fans. I knew I would be horrified at any information I was able to read. So I made a decision to not traumatize myself and to avoid reading Vick related articles.

I gained knowledge at this meeting, including watching footage of an actual dog fight, that I wish I did not have. I am having difficulty falling asleep some nights due to these second hand images flashing in my head. If you followed the case closely, you may not be surprised by the information I am about to share, as I am sure much of this information is common knowledge.

I was not aware that the Michael Vick dog fighting business was a coincidental finding in a search intended to find drugs. The investigation that led to the search warrant was drug related. The warrant was for the property and for the person who was residing at Vick's house. It was later discovered that this man was the "animal caretaker" employed while Vick was away.

The agent then posted a photo similar to this one of Michael Vick's property.

On the day the search took place, an agent stood in the gateway of the white fence, and stared deeper into the property. The agent looked at the white trim on the house and the white picket fence. Another fence was visible but this one was painted black. The agent stared and wondered, "Why the black paint?" That agent's question led to the discovery of the truth about Michael Vick and led to the freedom of 49 tortured animals.

The fence and the buildings in the back were painted black so they were camouflaged, especially at night. The fights would take place at night, and the dark paint hid the location from passers-by. The buildings housed a fighting ring, drug cabinets full of prescription drugs and medical paraphernalia from international pharmacies. There were kennels, chewed doghouses, food bowls, carcasses, burial grounds, birthing sheds, rape stands, chains, and more.

Another curious finding on the property evident in the aerial photo is the swimming pool. When you earn the salary of a professional football player and can afford a multimillion dollar house, why would you have a cheap above-ground swimming pool like the one in the photo? I have seen beautiful and luxurious above-ground pools with large wooden decks. Vick's pool is certainly lacking any luxurious feel. Vick could certainly afford a glamorous in-ground, landscaped swimming pool. So why this pool?

The purpose of this swimming pool was electrocution of the dogs that did not perform. Electrocution and drowning were just a few of the ways in which his dogs were executed. According to our federal agent, the dogs were thrown in the pool with a shop vac, or had the cords wrapped around their necks. Below are the words of another rescuer's experience:

From me (Donna) - I admit I'm stuck on this one because I just can't get myself away from the swimming pool in Vick's yard. I first learned about it while riding in the back seat of a federal agent's car that sweltering Tuesday back in Sept 07. The agent was assigned with escorting us to the various Virginia shelters so we could evaluate "the evidence" otherwise known as 49 pit bulls - now known as cherished family pets: Hector, Uba, Jhumpa, Georgia, Sweet Jasmine and the rest. I'm not sure if sharing insider information with us was kosher, but you know how driving down long country roads can get you talking. I imagine she just needed to get some things off her chest...

...Her candor set the tone for this entire saga. Everyone we worked with was deeply affected by the case. The details that got to me then and stay with me today involve the swimming pool that was used to kill some of the dogs. Jumper cables were clipped onto the ears of underperforming dogs, then, just like with a car, the cables were connected to the terminals of car batteries before lifting and tossing the shamed dogs into the water. Most of Vick's dogs were small - 40lbs or so - so tossing them in would've been fast and easy work for thick athlete arms. We don't know how many suffered this premeditated murder, but the damage to the pool walls tells a story. It seems that while they were scrambling to escape, they scratched and clawed at the pool liner and bit at the dented aluminum sides like a hungry dog on a tin can.

I wear some pretty thick skin during our work with dogs, but I can't shake my minds-eye image of a little black dog splashing frantically in bloody water ... screaming in pain and terror ... brown eyes saucer wide and tiny black white-toed feet clawing at anything, desperate to get ahold. This death did not come quickly. The rescuer in me keeps trying to think of a way to go back in time and somehow stop this torture and pull the little dog to safety. I think I'll be looking for ways to pull that dog out for the rest of my life.

So that's where I'm at. A second chance for Vick? An HSUS sponsored spokesman for ending torture? In my mind's eye Vick is still in the shadows at the side of that pool. As many times as this scene plays out my head, he hasn't yet moved towards that dog to pull him out. Not there yet."

Yesterday, the Philadelphia Daily News led with the Headline, "Top Dog" in reference to Michael Vick's being advanced to starter position for the Philadelphia Eagles.

I was extremely upset over what I thought was a legitimate newspaper using such a reference regarding a man with Vick's past. But as I researched this newspaper, I discovered that it is a sensationalist tabloid. It was a publicity stunt. They used the term with the intention of upsetting those of us who still remember the Michael Vick who threw dogs into pools rather than footballs into end zones. We have not forgotten those dogs. We have not forgotten that Vick.

Just two days before the Top Dog headline hit the newsstands, a book was released.

This book does contain horrific details of the abuse that took place, so reader beware. It also contains information about the 49 dogs that were rescued, the fight to keep them alive, and updates on the dogs.

I plan to read the book to answer some of my own questions regarding the rehabilitation of these dogs.

How many of these dogs are in typical family homes? How many still show their physical battle scars? How many still reside in a "sanctuary" due to aggression issues?

Skeptics of the rehabilitation of these dogs propose that most of these dogs were "adopted" by their original foster/rescue provider simply due to continued behavioral problems that only they are willing to deal with. I hope to discover if this is true? Who can blame a dog for having difficulty getting over such a traumatic past? I am confident that 49 lives are infinitely better.

There is a wonderful photographic tour of Vick's property, including the kennel, prior to the auction at The Washington Post.

While Vick still keeps popping up in the headlines, I hope we all remember his past. Perhaps the "Top Dog" headline worked in the animals' favor, reminding those who have forgotten.
I would love to see a reunion of Vick and/or his " animal caretaker" and some of these dogs, just to see the reaction of the dog when they see their former "Masters'" faces.

Would the dogs growl at them in hatred?

Would the dogs cower from them in fear?

Would the dogs attempt to protect their new Master from the men who caused them such pain?

Or would the dogs simply forgive them and whip their tails happily in the way that only pit bulls do?

If the latter were the response, then those dogs are one step closer to heaven than I am.

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Thursday, September 23, 2010

Moving to a small town where everyone knows each other was a lot like switching schools in tenth grade. It takes a long time to squirm your way in and make new friends. It took a while, but I think I have found what I was looking for. I hang out with a great bunch of people that truly care about each other. Yet I find that I still hold myself at a safe distance.

I was hurt in the past by friends who should have been there when I really needed them, yet they weren't. I have not yet allowed myself to let others in easily. I know I am not alone, we all carry our own pain inside. I realize that I cannot place other peoples' actions or inactions on the friends I have now, but I am unsure how to stop the cycle.

I recognize that I have a wall up, and I try to work on it. My new friends are unlike those I have ever had before. I watch them become each others' support system, rather than each others' critic. I watch them help each other with no expectation of reciprocation. I watch them treat their friends' families as their own. I am learning what it is like to have true friends, with each passing day that I spend with them. But I still find myself keeping a distance.

I was recently informed that a local woman was in one of our downtown establishments and was saying unkind things about me. I know what you are thinking, "Lisa is pretty vocal about animal welfare issues, and she should expect this type of criticism from those that oppose her." The ironic thing is that I really do not know this woman very well at all. Her opinion of me is not based on my animal advocacy. She is not a pet owner, and not in the pet industry.

The truth is that this tale is not about this woman or her words. I don't know exactly what she said or why she said it, and I really do not care...much.

What I do care about is that one of my new friends happened to be standing next to her during her criticism and overheard what she was saying. My friend did not ignore her words. My friend did not walk away. My friend did not scream at her in an infantile manner. She turned to this woman, and proudly and politely stated that she and I were close friends and adamantly put an end to her criticism of me.

My friend did not run to me to tell the story in order to seek my approval. She did not seek my thanks for doing what she felt was appropriate for the situation. She did not stand up for me to make herself feel better, or look good. She stood up for me for MY sake. She stood up for me in support of OUR friendship. These altruistic actions make her an even greater friend in my heart.

I am not sure how I would have handled the situation. (The infantile screaming may fit the bill.) I am fairly certain that she handled it in a much more mature manner than I would have.

I now know what it is like to have a support system. I have been missing that since my Mom passed away.
I hope my new friends know how much I care for and admire them, each for their own individual and distinctive personalities.

I hope I am strong enough to stand up for them if it is ever required of me.

I hope as I continue to learn, and continue to make mistakes, that my new friends find it in their hearts to forgive me.

I hope that I can learn to accept, forgive, support, and love unconditionally.

I hope I continue to learn what it is like have a true friend and to be a true friend.

I hope I allow myself to accept the benefits of true friendship, and to reciprocate those benefits.

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Sunday, September 19, 2010

So there I was locked in a monkey cage with several monkeys and bottles of monkey urine at the Roger Williams Park Zoo. If you are wondering how I got locked in a monkey cage, then you must have missed the previous blog entry. You can read it by clicking here Ur ine Luck 1 .

The wiring on the cage was very small, similar to chicken wire but stronger. I could not fit a fist through the small holes. I could fit only one finger through. I poked one finger out of the cage over the top of the clip that locked the door, and a finger from the other hand out of the cage under the bottom of the clip. I tried desperately to use one finger to hold the body of the leash clip steady and the other to pull the trigger back.

It takes a lot of strength to pull one of these triggers with one finger! I just did not have it without the proper leverage. It seemed as though hours went by during my efforts, but in reality it was only minutes. I would say 15-20 minutes! I was starting to lose sight of the humor in the whole situation when the door to the building opens. In walks another zoo keeper. I politely ask him to open the door to the cage, we laugh, and he obliges. Embarrassed, I leave and head back to the zoo's hospital.

Dr. Lloyd inquired as to what took me so long. I told him the story. He nodded with just a small smile, and says, "Was it Karen?" When I confirmed his suspicions, only then did he laugh outwardly.

"Has she done this before?" I asked slightly annoyed yet still in good humor.

"All the time." he stated.

I could not help but wonder why they would assign the job of teaching the preceptors to someone who locks the students in the cages. Perhaps locking them up was a good way for the usual staff to get a brief break from the constant barrage of questions? Perhaps having new students around was like having a new puppy that barks constantly throughout the night? Perhaps it was a right of passage or some humorous version of a hazing ritual? "Let's see how long it takes this student to find a way out!" I guess I failed if that was the case! At least I know that my fellow inmates were no smarter than I was!

If it was a form of hazing, (which I know it was not) I thought I had earned my entry into the zoo clan my first day there!

On my first day as a preceptor at Roger Williams Park Zoo, there were six Black and White Ruffed Lemurs in a quarantine room with a double door entry. This six pack of lemurs had successfully passed their mandatory quarantine period of 90 days to prove their health, but their new exhibit was not quite ready for them. So they continued to reside in the hospital wing, awaiting their new home to be completed. My job was to provide them with fresh food and water and to clean their cage. It required using a spray hose to clean the floors and walls. I put on my overalls, and rubber boots to keep my clothes from getting too wet or dirty.

I was a bit nervous going into the cage for the first time. They assured me that the lemurs would just hop up to the top of the cage and wait for my retreat. So I hobble into the cage with my big boots, dragging the hose behind me. I scoop up the food and water dishes and place them by the door. I start spraying down the floor and walls of the cage, keeping my eyes on the inhabitants using my keen peripheral vision. As I had been assured, the lemurs stayed on the top branch in the cage, far from where I was. They seemed completely uninterested in making closer contact. This wasn't so bad, and really it was kind of cool! How often does anyone get the opportunity to get this close to this type of exotic animal!

As I continued spraying and feeling more confident about the situation, I also started to feel wetness on the back of my neck. I reach my hand to back of my neck, and it is wet! I life the nozzle of the hose, and look at the area where it is screwed onto the hose to see if there is a leak, but there is none. I slowly move my eyes along the hose, turning the pressure on and off, to see if there is a leak in the hose that could possibly be squirting up and hitting my neck. Nothing. Confused, I start to look around the cage when I notice him.

Behind me, perched on top of the door that I walked in, is a lemur. The door is slightly propped open to allow the hose into the cage and he is balanced on the top of that small ledge atop the door. He is still holding his winkie and urinating on me in intermittent streams! I start slapping the back of my neck and bouncing around in my boots, as though there was a bee caught in my collar! Eventually, he ran out of ammunition, and I half-heartedly finished cleaning up the cage with a moistened neck.

How that little guy developed such good aim is beyond me! And you guessed it! This happened first thing in the morning on my first day there. The urine had soaked through my coveralls and dribbled down my neck to christen my squeaky clean scrub top. I spent the rest of the day wearing a urine soaked scrub top, as I had neglected to bring a spare!

An important lesson learned for the field of veterinary medicine. ALWAYS have spare clothes available, just in case. But it will be on that one day that you do not have them, that you will need them.

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My daughter comes running from the side of the house. "Mom, you hafta see this!" She disappears and comes back with an Eastern American Toad perched in her 6 year old hands. As I snap the photo of the little princess and her toad, her hands get wet.

"It's spitting on me!" she giggles.

I correct her, "It's not spitting on you. It's peeing on you."

Before I can explain the term "defense mechanism", the little girl who showed no fear or disgust about a creature that many people will not touch, is suddenly "grossed out" and drops the toad. She runs to the side of the driveway and wipes her hands on the grass. I make her come back to move the fortunately uninjured toad out of the driveway so Daddy does not run over it when he brings his truck into the garage. She hesitantly picks him up and gently places him in the grass. He then keeps following her out into the driveway, so she repeatedly returns him to the grass. Finally, he discontinues his efforts, and we stand alone on the pavement. She looks at me with her hands held out, as if to say, "What do I do now?"

"Go wash your hands inside." I advise, and she does so as I laugh at the situation.

The fear of urine seems to disappear when your goal is joining the veterinary profession. I have so many urine tales, I cannot address all of them in one blog entry. But I will start with one of the most memorable.

I was enrolled in a preceptorship at Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence, RI in October of 1994 during my fourth year of veterinary school. There were many animals within the hospital that were either in quarantine because they were new to the zoo, or because there were health concerns.

One day, I was taken out to a building to assist in a research project. I wish I had been writing a blog at that time, because I cannot remember the type of small primates these were, but going on appearance I would guess they were a marmoset of some type. Here is a photo of a Pygmy Marmoset from the San Francisco Zoo in California. The set up was very similar to what I experienced.

Inside the big building is a large wire cage. The zoo keeper, Karen, leads me into the enclosure. As you walk into the wire enclosure, you have to unclasp a small metal leash clip to open the door. This serves to lock the door so no animals escape.

Once inside the enclosure, another leash clip inside the door must be fastened so the door remains shut inhibiting the escape of any of the cage's inhabitants.

Inside the cage, I see a dozen or so of these little guys and gals looking at me, face to face. They are perched on branches of all sizes. There are several feeding and watering stations within the enclosure. I had viewed many zoo animals like these from behind glass or wire, but never this close and intimate! I was both excited and nervous, and of course without camera!

Karen gave me a quick lesson in urine collecting on these small primates. Every time they eat a grape, they release urine. My job was to feed each adorable little monkey a grape and catch urine samples from them as they ate. Once Karen was certain I was capable of the task at hand, she left to allow me to do my business and the monkeys to do their business.

I continued to collect the samples without realizing that when Karen left the cage AND THE BUILDING that she locked the cage door from the outside!

When the grapes were gone, and the urine was in each specimen jar, I collected my items and proceeded to the door. That is when I realized, I was locked in the cage.

To be continued...

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Saturday, September 18, 2010

Today, I learned about a group known as the OIE. OIE is the acronym from the french name of the group, Office International des Epizooties. In 2003, the group gained a simplified name in English, the World Organisation for Animal Health . The "s" in organisation is from the British spelling of the word and is not a typo. Despite the new name, the official acronym is maintained from its french roots as the OIE. The aim of this group is to monitor and improve animal health on a global scale. The human medical counterpart is the World Health Organization, known as WHO.

I wonder why the OIE did not choose World Health Organization for Animals? It's members could then claim membership in WHOA!

I can imagine a conversation between an MD and a DVM.

"I am a member of WHOA." states the vet.
"What's the matter?" asked the doctor.
"Nothing, Why?" inquired the vet.
"You said "WHOA" responded the doctor.
"Are you a member?" asked the vet.
"I am a member of WHO." stated the doctor.
"How would I know?" asked the confused vet.
"What?" asked the befuddled doctor.
"WHO you are a member of?" asked the vet.
"Yes, WHO." claims the doctor.
"Now what are you asking me for?" asks the vet in a Costellian manner!

Perhaps OIE should have considered, World Animal Health Organization Offices. Then they could have been WAHOO! (sing to the theme of yahoo!)

(read the following in a rapid yet monotone manner in the way drug commercials list their common side effects. the author of this blog is in no way intending to diminish the importance of either of the groups mentioned. the writing is in jest and the acronyms have not been changed. no animals were injured during the writing of this blog. the author is not responsible for any tongue ties or brain twists that occured during the reading of this blog. )

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Saturday, September 11, 2010

On this date, I would like to share a video with you, rather than write about the topic. It would be impossible for me to write and express the emotion evoked by this video any better than it's publisher already has. Please watch it and remember to share it.

I dedicate this moment in my life to all First Responders: Past, Present, and Future...Human and Canine. I am thinking of all of you. While the video focuses on the Canine Rescuers of 9-11, remember that it is their people that train them, care for them, and lead them into the thick of the battle. The words you read in the video, while intended for the Canine Rescuers, can be duplicated for their human counterparts. Thank you for doing your job.

First Responders rarely refer to themselves or accept themselves as heroes. It is up to us to make sure that they know that they are heroes, even if never placed in a life or death situation. They take the job, knowing the risks.

Please thank your local Firefighters, EMTs, Police, Search and Rescue Dog operations (you can probably find them by googling for "search and rescue dog with your state's name), Animal and Human Shelter personnel, and First Responders of all kinds. Also remember our military troops. We know that their lives change before, during, and after each call to which they respond. Reach out in your own way to remind them that their dedication to their task is appreciated, and that you think of them BEFORE, during, and after you need them.

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Saturday, September 4, 2010

I grew up on the east coast. The beach, the mountains, the big cities were all located within hours of my small suburban hometown. Until I moved to Iowa, I did not realize how infrequently I had taken advantage of the opportunities that living in New England had to offer. I now find myself missing the beach, the mountains, and the big cities.

I was never a "beach bum", but I love the sound of the waves, the humm of the foghorns, the taste and smell of the salt water, the thrill of finding a live hermit crab or muscle, the feel of the sand squishing between your toes. Summers were great for hiking and rock climbing in the mountains, and winters were when I would find myself flopping down a mountain on skis while my more skillful and experienced friends watched me both panicked and entertained. That minor concussion healed just fine! I would not consider myself a city girl, but taking the train or driving to New York City, Boston, or Providence for a day trip to see the sights was exciting. And yet, if I tried to count the number of times that I actually ventured into any of these escapades, it was far less frequently than it seems in my memory. I wish my kids could go to the beach each summer and chase waves. I miss the gorgeous autumn views of the New England landscape that a mountain hike presents to you. I miss my family's annual bus trip to New York City. But those opportunities have passed. When I go home to visit, we try to touch all those things that bring back memories of my youth...the beach, train rides, New York City, and of course family. I attribute my lack of "taking advantage" of all New England had to offer to my youth, yet I see myself falling into the same traps now.

A young couple came to work at my clinic six years ago. Caitlin and Ryan had moved to Iowa from California to make their way into veterinary school. I became very close to them, and hold them as two of my closest friends today. I watched them learn and gain from some of the experiences, both good and bad, that my clinic had to offer them. I watched them adjust to the cold winters that they did not experience back home in the California sun. I laughed when they described how nervous they were when there was talk of tornado watches and warnings, because I still get downright anxious about those myself. I watched them struggle with the new "computer" version of the veterinary school application. Thank goodness I missed out on that! I fondly recall sitting for hours at my electric typewriter filling out applications for several veterinary schools over and over, trying to avoid typos! Oh, the memories and how they can date us!

Caitlin was working with me when "THE EMAIL" arrived in her inbox. It was a message from the Iowa State University College of Veterinary Medicine. It was the notice of acceptance or rejection that she had been anxiously awaiting. That day happened to be Ryan's day off.

She wanted so badly to open it, but several things kept her from doing so. She did not want to open it without Ryan present. They had struggled through every phase of becoming a veterinarian together, so this too was a moment to be shared between them. She also feared that the email's message was one that she would rather not read.

She was so panicked about whether it was an acceptance or rejection that she logged into Ryan's email account. Her intentions were not to read his email, but to see if he also received one from the vet school and to evaluate if the size of the emails were the same. This would give her a clue as to what the email might say, and as to whether both emails relayed the same message. If Ryan did not have an email from ISU CVM awaiting his discovery, did that mean one of them was accepted but the other was not? If the byte size of the emails are different, implying that the messages contained within each email were different, did that mean one was accepted and the other was not?

Caitlin discovered that there was an email waiting for Ryan. Hopefully that meant that the two messages were the same, and this young couple would be following the same path. However, the emails were not quite the same size. Ryan's email was 19kb and Caitlin's email was only 18kb! Oh no! Was the message within each email different? Did 1 kb matter? Is 1kb a significant enough difference to imply that the messages contained one rejection and one acceptance? What will this young hopeful couple do if one of them was accepted and one was rejected? As a couple, they were hoping to gain their experiences together!

I tried everything to get Caitlin to open her email. We ran in circles from excitement like two cats being sprayed by a hose for getting too close to the canary cage.

"Caitlin, Just read it."

"Not without Ryan."

Caitlin, just read it."

"What if they didn't accept me?"

"Caitlin, just read it."

"What if only one of us get in?"

"Caitlin, just read it."

"Okay...mmmmmmmmmmm, no, I can't"

Perhaps she would let me read it? Well, she didn't fall for that. If she had given me permission, I am not sure I would have been able to keep it a secret. I was relatively certain that she was accepted. Both of their qualifications were excellent. So I suffered along with Caitlin until Ryan called and opened his over the phone. They were both accepted.

Over the next four years, our relationships changed. Caitlin, who had become one of my best friends despite the fact that she was an employee, suddenly went from being by my side daily, to being a full time veterinary student. Ryan went from swinging by the clinic whenever he had a chance, to suddenly being bogged down with studying. I knew and understood what they were going through, and I did miss them, but I knew from experience that they needed to get their work done and dedicate themselves to their education.

I would meet them for the occasional lunch or dinner. We would try to talk and catch up on each other's lives, but I would usually end up catering to my kids and making sure that they behaved in the restaurant. Our conversations were never very deep or focused.

Soon, Caitlin and Ryan had a baby boy. Ethan arrived during their third year of Vet School. I still cannot imagine the strength it requires for a parent of a young child to succeed in completing veterinary school. I had classmates who were parents or became parents during their education. Now that I am a parent, I hold a new level of respect for them, and for their spouse/significant other.

For four years Caitlin and Ryan lived just 20 miles away from me. Because all of our lives are so hectic with school or work and kids, we rarely saw each other, and if we did, there was again a lack of focus. There was no time to sit down and delve deep into our thoughts and feelings, and have those conversations that take place only among close friends.

There is no blame to place. I know from experience that most of their time was dedicated to classes and to studying, and then to baby Ethan. As a matter of fact, they studied so frequently at Border's Books in Ames, that in honor of their graduation, a plaque was placed at the center of the group study table in the cafe. I don't want to know how much caffeine was consumed during those study sessions!

Caitlin and Ryan are now graduates. They are now Dr. Caitlin and Dr. Ryan, as well as Mom and Dad to a son, and a baby that is on the way. Both titles are ones of which they should be proud. I am so proud of them, and yet so sad.

They are moving to Texas to begin their new careers, their new lives. The past four years, when I could have tried to stay close to them, I did not make the time. I was chasing my business, and my children, and they were chasing their dreams. I regret not making enough time for cuddling Ethan and watching Caitlin and Ryan blossom into parents. Perhaps, deep down I knew that if I started letting go of them during Vet School, when the time came for them to move away, it would be easier to watch them move on in their lives.

Caitlin, Ryan, Ethan, and I sat together at lunch the other day, just a few days before their move out of state. My kids were not with me, so I was free as a bird, ready and able to talk about anything. Ethan played with an old camera, and nibbled on fruits and cheese from his tupperware cuppie...his usual snack. Caitlin chased the camera as it slid across the table, was tossed onto the floor, or dangled dangerously by it's wriststrap from the edge of the table. She scooped fruit and cheese from the chair in which Ethan sat, from the floor, and from across the table. She held Ethan's cup so he could blow bubbles in his water through the straw, while he giggled because the bubbles splashed him in his face.

Caitlin looked at me and asked, "Lisa, do you remember the time we came here for lunch when Miranda and Connor were little? Connor was learning to use a straw and kept tipping the entire cup upside down like a sippy cup, getting his shirt all wet? Miranda was playing with the little girl sitting in a high chair at the next table?"

I laughed, and said, "Yes, I remember."

Caitlin continued, "I remember leaving that day thinking that we didn't really have an opportunity to talk about much that day. Now that I have Ethan, I totally get it." and she punctuated that statement with a hearty laugh.

Perhaps you have to be a Mom or Dad to understand the humor involved in that statement. But the fact that she now understood, what she likely didn't understand then, made me feel as though I have been forgiven. It took a huge weight off of my shoulders.

We finished our meal, and chased Ethan out to the parking lot. "Let's try to get together this weekend before we leave." We all agreed, but the reality is that we probably won't. I work on Saturday. They have to pack for the move on Sunday. I was not ready to say goodbye, so we parted as though we would see each other again. As I drove home from that meal, I could feel the emotions erupting, emotions that I was trying hard to suppress.

The past four years are gone and I cannot change them. I hope Caitlin and Ryan know how proud I am of them, and how much I will miss them.

Ironically, I will probably talk to them more now that they are moving 850 miles away, than I did when they lived only 20 miles away. At least I hope I will...

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